Chapter 3
3
Natalie
I didn’t know sex was possible through a handshake, but I might need a cigarette after this one. And I don’t smoke.
Until that moment, I was content calling him Mr. Smug and Sexy. But temptation has a name, and it couldn’t be more perfect. Nick.
Nicholas.
Nicolai.
Domi nick .
Although now I’m curious about the nickname, I exhale before glancing into those brown and golden-tinged eyes that made me feel safe inside the bar. I’d like to say he was better looking in the cover of the dimly lit bar, but nope. He’s still ridiculously attractive in broad daylight, if not more so.
Pulling my gaze away, I ask, “So now that we have that out of the way, are you a serial killer or what?”
He bursts out laughing, rocking back on the curb and sadly causing our hands to fall from each other. I fidget awkwardly with my belt, not knowing what to do with my hand in his hand’s absence. Continuing to chuckle, he says, “I’m not. What about you? Kill anyone, Natalie?”
“I have the perfect alibis regarding a few exes, but I never followed through.” I wink.
When his chuckles wane, he says, “I’m not sure if you’re kidding or not.”
“Guess you’ll have to take a chance.” I rest my palms on the concrete behind me. “Between us, my best friend just topped my list of future victims.” Suddenly feeling the need to stand, I pace a few feet and then return to him and prop my foot up on the curb. “You don’t have to worry about me, Nick. In fact, I can wait for the rental company to show up all by my lonesome if you want to take off.” I check the time on my watch and scowl, irritated when I see I still have some steps to cover to reach my daily goal.
"What’s wrong?” he asks, standing up.
He’s tall. I noticed that inside, but with him up on the curb and me standing lower on the parking lot, he’s absurdly giant. Even my brother would be jealous of Nick’s height, and my brother is no slouch. I reply, “It’s dumb.”
Seeing fingers flex reminds me I’ve caught what appears to be Nick trying to touch me several times. I would have karate-chopped his wrist, but I laugh, knowing that’s a lie I can’t even tell myself. I was forced out of his arms inside, so I’d wholeheartedly welcome a repeat.
Or maybe . . . Could I pull off a legit fall when standing on steady ground? Is it worth the potential injury if he doesn’t catch me this time? Or even worse, thinks I’m a lost cause of a klutz? Will it matter what I think about him catching me if his lips are on mine? Or even better, he kisses me so good that I can’t think at all?
Even though he’s great with his hands, I blow off the crazy idea.
“Natalie?”
“Yes?” I look up into his persuasive eyes, wondering if I should put my devious plan into action. I bet his lips would make the fall worth the embarrassment.
When he continues to look at me as though he’s in on some secret, which he isn’t, or there’s no way he would still be standing here knowing I’ve been daydreaming about mauling him and that mouth of his, I add, “Seriously, if you take off now you might make the party before they depart.”
“I don’t mind waiting.”
Shrugging, I add, “It’s your night.”
“Nah. I’m not missing out. Actually . . .” He steps down next to me. “I think I got the better option for the night.”
“Beats end of the stick. Also, if memory serves, you weren’t given an option but rather a babysitting job.”
His laughter bellows from his gut. “I could say so much, but . . .” He reaches toward me again—just enough to notice but not close enough to touch. Then he retreats with worry creasing his expression. “You’ve got?—”
“Stars in my eyes? They always shine like this when I drink. Speaking of, we can wait inside and have another drink.”
Glancing over his shoulder when a couple of guys come tripping out—boisterous and crude—I remember hearing them remarking on the size of the waitress’s breasts. “They’re horrid.”
Nick turns, blocking me in his shadow. I can’t see the other men, but I can hear them. My stomach tightens, but I find safety in the fact they can’t see me either. “I can think of a better word.” He doesn’t share that word, but I get the gist.
This time, I let his hand caress my cheek, the pad of his thumb rubbing my temple. The little gesture doesn’t seem to satisfy him, but it does me, and I move closer. He asks, “How are you feeling?” His voice is as warm as his touch.
On the verge of sobering up entirely too soon for my liking, I wouldn’t mind having an excuse to touch him right back. Alas, even under the influence of a few drinks, I remember my manners. “I shouldn’t have drunk so much.”
“Shots taken under peer pressure never end well.”
The other men have carried on to the next bar, and Nick and I are alone again. Considering how busy this place is, I’m starting to feel lucky I’ve been given the time to sober up. The last thing I want to do is throw up in front of him.
Nick—catcher of drunk women, flat-tire determiner with all-around movie star good looks. Among everything I’ve already learned about him, I can’t help but note his looks. What can I say besides he’s hot?
When I was in his arms, I was fairly certain he was the devil sent to make me sin. Now I’m starting to think he’s my guardian angel to keep me safe. I might be a little disappointed. Giggling, I add, “Truer words have never been spoken. I’m tipsy and hungry.”
“Ah, those usually go hand in hand.” Holding up his phone, he offers, “I can order food?”
I’m already licking my lips from the very thought of a big burger with fries. “It’s okay. Thanks, though.” He yanks his gaze away and stares at some nearby golf carts like they’ve offended him.
I try to fix that frown. “Since we have time to kill?—”
He eyes me suspiciously. “Kill?”
I laugh. “Can we end the serial killer thing? Does passing time work better for you?”
“Much better.”
He’s easy to talk to, and I like that. “I kind of embarrassed myself earlier.”
Shifting beside me, he keeps his eyes on our surroundings. “We all fall on our asses every once in a while.” He angles his chin my way. “But you got up and dusted yourself off like a champ.”
“I appreciate the vote of confidence and motivational speech.”
The sweetest lopsided grin slides into place, the right side of his mouth kissing a cute dimple above it. “It was all you.”
“A man who can give me credit,” I reply sarcastically. “That’s a first.” My gut twists and not from the alcohol in my system. I’ve gone too far. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“You wouldn’t have said it if you hadn’t experienced it. Sucks you had to deal with that behavior.”
Rubbing my temple, I sigh. “I hate when I get emotional.”
“Let’s blame the alcohol and not worry about it.”
I may have fixated on his looks so much that I overlooked his kindness. Inside the bar and out here, he’s been nothing but a gentleman. When he grasps my hand and pulls me against him, a few heartbeats are lost in the heat of the connection. My shoulders fall, and I look up at him, sucking in a staggered breath. “I?—”
“Almost got run over.”
“What?”
His gaze pivots to my right, and I turn in his arms to see a golf cart skidding to a stop, not even a foot from where I was standing thirty seconds prior. Whipping my attention back to Nick, I say, “You’re a regular hero, saving the day and me again.”
“I wouldn’t say regular. Let’s try on super for size.”
“ Super hero?”
“You’re right. That might be giving me too much credit. The guy was driving like a maniac.”
I’m not sure what the difference is between an everyday hero and a superhero or how we even got tangled in this conversation in the first place. Oh, yeah . . . The guy bent over the flat tire says, “Busy night. I’ve had three flats, and one of our best Vespas ended up in Catalina Harbor. Not good.” He looks at us. “I’ll take a look, but I don’t have any spare tires, so I might not be able to fix it on the fly.” Great. Just what I need.
Big hands still protectively cover my forearms, which shifts my focus back to Nick again. “Can I blame the rum?” I ask, laughing lightly.
“For?” His answer is for only my ears, an alluring tone that has me lowering my guard.
“I thought you were going to kiss me. Again .” I slip out of his hold and roll my hand. “Like inside, which might have been more wishful thinking on my part, but out here, it seemed like the perfect setup for a kiss under the stars of Catalina to set a mood.”
“Which mood are we trying to set? I’ll see if I can arrange for your fantasy to come true.”
“Fantasy?” My voice pitches. I realize I’m doing exactly what I’m not supposed to be doing. Falling prey to a great face and hot body has gotten me in trouble more times than I care to admit. So I won’t admit anything to anyone, other than Tatum, of course, since she’s usually with me. This trip was about having fun, but not that kind of fun. Throwing my arms up as a self-built barrier, I continue, “No fantasy over here. Nope. No mood. No setting. Nothing needs to be arranged. I’m good.” I shove my hands out farther. “ So good. You don’t even know how good I am.”
Narrowed eyes are trained on me as if I’m about to make a fast getaway. I just might, actually. It might be the only thing that saves me. “Are you okay?” he asks.
“Not really, but don’t worry. It’s me, not you.”
“That’s the first time I’ve heard that from someone I’m not even dating.”
Raising an eyebrow, I smile because it’s insane to think someone like him has experienced the same thing as me before. I mean, look at him. “You’ve been dumped with that line, too?”
He runs his thumb over his bottom lip, still staring unabashedly at me, but his chuckling is confusing. “No,” he replies. “But?—”
“It’s busted. Can’t fix this one, miss.” The Vespa guy eyes me, and I think he waggles his eyebrows, but I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt that he didn’t. “Want a ride?” he asks.
His eagerness has me questioning if I want to get tangled up in that. Short answer: I don’t. “I’m good. Thanks.”
“Okay, then. Have a good night.” He speeds off in the golf cart, leaving me standing here trying my best not to make it awkward for Nick.
Peeking over at him, I say, “I mean it. You don’t have to worry about me. Seriously. I can call a car, or I don’t know, hitch my way back.”
“I can drive you back.” The words rush from his mouth as if the universe’s very existence hinges on them. I force my gaze away and eye the lone working scooter—turquoise with chrome accents—because it’s too easy to get lost in his eyes otherwise.
He walks over, taking the helmet from the broken-down scooter, and offers it to me. “Even though you don’t trust two wheels, you can trust me. I promise to drive safely.”
I don’t want to leap into his arms, but I’m close to jumping and straddling his body. Alas, I control my desires. “If you’re sure?”
A smug grin covers his perfect face. “I’m sure.”
Taking the helmet, I hug it in my arms. Tatum thinks she’s won the Super Bowl with Harrison, but I’m happily grinning because she left me with a consolation prize that feels more like winning the jackpot. “We’re staying at Catalina Vista. It’s just down the coast from here.”
Bellowing laughter overrides the end of my sentence, and he says, “That’s where we’re staying.”
“Looks like it might not be such a coincidence, after all.”
“I’m thinking it was destiny.”
“Whoa. Let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves, cowboy. We’re still strangers.”
“You’re a handful, I can tell.” He gets on the scooter and lifts the kickstand before righting it. “Front or back?”
“I’ve been called many things by guys. Handful doesn’t even rank in order of the bad.”
“Fuck those guys.” The anger that punctuates the curse word . . . well, you guessed it—it’s unexpected and definitely a turn-on.
I grin, feeling as if he just defended my honor, and pull the helmet over my head. “Back.”
What? Did you miss the part where I said he was stupidly handsome, and he’s been utterly charming? Add in the honor part, and I’m already halfway gone. So what do you expect me to do? Call a car? Not on my life, literally, when I have a hot guy wanting to give me a ride. My inner voice yells, “ Get on the bike .”
The sight of Nick sends a thrill up my spine, and the thought of holding onto this big hunk of a man is sobering in a good way. It’s not every day that a girl gets to go on an adventure with a hot stranger, even if it’s on two wheels and not the safety of the recommended four.
My Audrey Hepburn-loving heart squeezes with excitement that my California version of Roman Holiday is coming true. Although the perfect chignon and makeup elude me, as well as Audrey’s grace being thrown out the window, this fantasy apparently includes helmet hair and a hunky man. God, I sound like my mother.
Mental note: Never use hunky again.
Angling to look at me over his shoulder, he asks, “You think you can handle me, Natalie?”
“Don’t worry about me, Nick. I can handle you.”
“Hold on tight.”
I do, as tight as I can, closing my eyes while pressed to his back. It’s then that I realize my inner voice, the responsible one , never stood a chance against this man.